


Moby Dickery

by lalalalalawhy



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, deep sea whimsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy/pseuds/lalalalalawhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, in the distance… below the horizon. Is it a submarine? Is it a coelacanth? NO!</p><p>He is the sub-aquatic darkness. He is the Abyssopelagic layer. He exerts the pressure of justice on the metazoic creatures who lurk in the deep. He is the hero the ocean deserves. He is your semiamphibious knight. He is… PHILLIP FATHOM, DEEP SEA DETECTIVE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moby Dickery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [funkyatheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkyatheart/gifts).



 

Phillip Fathom surveyed the calm waters of the Apex City from his perch on the jetty across from the Apex City Harbor complex. It had been quiet under the sea of late. Too quiet. The Investigateens had nothing to report, Captain Laserbeam’s foes had been strictly landlubbers, and the sea creatures…

Wait just a period of time delineated by the ringing of a ship’s bell! The sea creatures! The sea creatures had been unnaturally quiet since, well, since at least yesterday night when the whalesong sent him off to dreamland. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of krilll nor plankton all day, let alone the larger sea creatures. Something was dreadfully wrong.

Fathom cinched up his San Andreas Trenchcoat and dove, dove, with all the precision of a manta ray, if manta rays ever needed to dive, which they generally do not, into the salty waters of the bay. It was his mission to uncover the mystery lurking in the watery depths, no matter how dangerous, no matter how diabolical.

Fathom swam for leagues, trench coat flap-flapping behind him. Evil lurked in his bay, and he would root it out.

Finally, a clue. The shipwrecked pleasure yacht The Kumquat had lain dormant in the depths of Apex Bay since it sank during one of Joshua Valor’s more lavish parties on the bay (a different story entirely). It had lain dormant for five years, collecting seaweed and barnacles. But now! Three port holes had been smashed out, and a light was on inside.

Fathom wasted no time. He swam through a smashed porthole, fisherang in hand, ready for anything, except for what he saw.

The room was empty, save for a lit candle and a harpoon sharpening kit. Fathom left. His prey was elsewhere, lurking deep beneath the surface like a bristlemouth swimming deep in the epipelagic layer. Deep in the darkness, where no light penetrates, where the shadows have shadows and the darkness never dims. Lowdown and dirty, just like the ocean scum.

Fathom swam away from the wreck, his illicium - a bioluminescent filament extending from his head that lures foes closer in the deep sea darkness - acting as dim flashlight, sweeping back and forth across the dark ocean floor.

Suddenly, he could almost hear whalesong, although it was quiet. Just on the edge of hearing where noises like a whale would make if a whale were… if a whale were cornered up against a deep-sea rock formation by a man dressed in a white wet suit, who was threatening the whale with what appeared to be a shock-harpoon. In fact, it sounded exactly like that.

Fathom swam up behind the man and grabbed him by the shoulders to spin him around. The man ducked and brought the shock harpoon around to zap Fathom right in the gills. It hurt like an orca bite, but Fathom didn’t waste any time. He landed a solid punch to the man’s jaw and grabbed the shock harpoon. The man hung on for dear life, but Fathom wasn’t about to let go.

“ _Who are you?_ ” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, “ _and what are you doing in my ocean_.”

“Oh please, it’s not _your_ ocean!” the man said. “I’m the White Whaler, and I’m here to reap my revenge on this whale that bit me many years ago.” He made a feeble attempt to regain control of the harpoon.

“ _That’s where you’re wrong_ ,” Fathom growled, gripping the harpoon tighter.

“What, about the ocean or about the whale?” The man’s voice was almost nasally as it came through his breathing apparatus.

“ _BOTH!!_ ” Fathom shouted. “ _This whale is a baby blue whale and has never hurt a thing. And,”_ he said, ripping the harpoon from the White Whaler’s hands, _“_ _you’re about to meet her mommy_.”

From the darkness swam a creature so large, so majestic, even Fathom had to shake himself free of the impulse to doff his hat.

The White Whaler almost had the decency to look a little bit ashamed of himself, but then he turned back to the baby.

“Some whale bit me at some point! I have to exact revenge or I’m no better than a coward.”

The baby blue whale cowered as the White Whaler unsheathed a hidden knife and moved to stab the whale.

Fathom brought the shock harpoon around and delivered a nasty shock straight to the White Whaler’s left side. The White Whaler, momentarily stunned, drifted back long enough for the baby to escape.

She swam up to her mom and headbutted her. They were all aflutter with whalesong. After a moment, though, the mama whale paused to look down at Fathom.

“ _Take your baby and go_ ,” Fathom muttered to the whale while he worked on putting aqua-cuffs on the White Whaler. “ _You can thank me later_.”

She crooned a grateful tune and swam away with her little one.

The White Whaler was coming back to his senses. “You bastard!” he shouted, “Now I’ll never get my revenge! It will haunt me forever.”

“ _Let’s get one thing straight_ ,” Fathom leaned over and whispered directly in his ear. “ _I am the sub-aquatic darkness. I am the Abyssopelagic layer. I exert the pressure of justice on the metazoic creatures who lurk in the deep. I am the hero the ocean deserves. And right now, you should be worried about being haunted by ME!_ ”

Fathom leaned in, pressing the shock harpoon (it was off; he wasn’t a monster) against the White Whalers lower back. The White Whaler quivered and glanced over his shoulder at Fathom. Fathom’s mouth was right next to his ear, and his voice was quiet now, almost a whisper. “ _Call me Ishmael_.”

Fathom frog-swam the White Whaler to shore. Technically he could handle it himself, but prosecuting someone for the crime of Attempted Poaching with a Deadly Harpoon would make the Apex Police Department very happy. And besides, if he went up to shore this evening, maybe Captain Laserbeam would be up for a some ice cream.


End file.
